


The Probation

by Fisticuffs



Series: A Fine Line [4]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Kid Fic, Knotting, M/M, Omega!Matt, alpha!Fisk, mpreg mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 13:02:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16833142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fisticuffs/pseuds/Fisticuffs
Summary: Fisk is released as a free man. Matt calls him when he should not. Matt invites him knowing better.





	1. Parole

**Author's Note:**

> YOU MUST READ THE OTHER THREE PARTS OF THE SERIES FIRST!
> 
> I wasn’t going to start uploading this fic until I finished it, but with Daredevil’s cancellation, I thought people might appreciate some content, in the way that I can contribute. So this fic is partially finished, but be patient with me and my slow updates to come.
> 
> Last part of this series. Fisk is finally getting out of prison. I mention how long it lasted in the fic below, seven years. Fisk gets out earlier than his sentence should have let him. General parole, good behavior, or bribing a judge, you decide. So Daniel is seven here. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

  
Foggy filed an injunction.  
  
A judge overruled it, and the parole hearing commenced as scheduled.  
  
Matt was welcome to speak at the hearing. Foggy encouraged him to do it, and then he begged him to do it. Matt abstained.  
  
Without deferral, without a pleading testimony, nothing halted the events from unfolding precisely as they did.  
  
After seven years, three months, and twenty-five days, Wilson Fisk was granted parole. One week later, he walked out of prison.  
  
He was free.  
  
Foggy and Karen thought they could keep Matt’s mind off it. They thought a fun evening at his apartment would make him forget that the man who imprisoned him for seven months, who threatened to kill him, who was the alleged mastermind of a criminal enterprise, who was the father of his son, was set free. Wilson Fisk stood on a New York City street, and Matt Murdock played a board game.  
  
“Wait, wait, wait.” He reached out and grabbed a devious little hand. “I think I only heard four taps. You were supposed to move me five spaces.”  
  
“I warned ya,” Foggy said to Daniel. “You can’t cheat the guy. Somehow, he always knows.”  
  
Daniel laughed and moved Matt’s game piece a space— backwards.  
  
“Okay, now you’re just testing me.”  
  
“More popcorn?” Karen put the bowl directly in front of Matt, so he could find it easier. Everyone else was welcome to reach. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else?” she asked. “We can order some Mexican.”  
  
“Who doesn’t love tacos?” Foggy chimed in.  
  
“I love tacos,” Karen replied with too much enthusiasm.  
  
Their tactics were sloppy and obvious. They thought they could extend the night until late, distract Matt’s mind from Fisk until he was ready for bed. It was kind of them.  
  
“Uh, no,” Matt declined. “No, thanks. We’ll eat later.” He and Daniel would eat after everyone left.  
  
“Suit yourself.” Matt could tell Foggy wanted to order the food anyway and act surprised when it arrived.  
  
They had a nice, quaint evening, the four of them. Matt enjoyed it even though he wished he had eyes to better watch the time. He was anxious as it slipped away and almost made him reconsider further plans. But then Karen’s boyfriend called, asking if he should pick up dinner, and she could not tell him no. Matt denied suggestions to eat at his place. So, Karen lingered and then she left. Foggy had a harder time defending his presence after that.  
  
He stayed another hour.  
  
“All right, Lollipop Guild,” he said, “gimme a hug.” Daniel ran at him full force and knocked into Foggy, causing him to grunt. “Damn, what do you feed this kid?” He patted Daniel’s back and ruffled his hair.  
  
“Must be something in the water,” Matt chuckled.  
  
“Must be.” Foggy wrapped an arm around Matt and gave a comfortable squeeze. “Call me,” he offered, he implored, “if you need anything— anything at all, even just to talk.” He was concerned with Matt’s mental state in wake of a paroled Fisk, but he said anything except those exact words.  
  
“Thanks, Foggy.” Matt smiled at him. “Really.” The man’s unwavering friendship was something for which he would always be grateful, even if deception kept him from deserving it. By comparison, Matt was a shameful and shoddy friend. He accepted the mantle, along with its crown of guilt. “I’ll see you later.” They would meet at the office bright and early Monday morning, if a client did not need them first.  
  
“See you then.” Foggy left down the long hall of the apartment and yelled behind himself, “Lock the door after me!”  
  
Foggy knew a locked door would contribute to keeping paranoia at bay. One more security to keep out Fisk. It was thoughtful.  
  
And Matt was a bad friend.  
  
Half-an-hour later, he was secluded in his bedroom, fingering the rectangular shape of his phone. He knew better. He knew what his next step should be, and he knew that common sense would be negated by foolish action. He knew what he was going to do.  
  
Matt missed old landline phones with their raised and physical buttons. He was able to dial on them without sight. The flat display of a digital screen did not benefit him. It was nothing but a bright light with indistinguishable colors. Because of his disability, Matt was forced to verbalize his bad decision. He pushed a button and gave the phone his damning order. “Call Wilson.”  
  
“Calling Wilson.”  
  
It took several rings before the phone was answered, the recipient narrowly preventing a voicemail. Fisk knew who was calling. That was why he almost did not pick up.  
  
“Hello.”  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Matt’s first phone call with a girl had roughly the same amount of syllables.  
  
“I...” What was there to say? Fisk knew why he called. There was no mystery between them, no secret. All that was required for the evening to progress was that Matt give the signal, and the phone call alone served that purpose. “We ordered Thai. He asked. I ordered... It should be here in twenty.”  
  
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Fisk gave him an out. He gave Matt one precious and final chance to reconsider, to think rationally.  
  
“I mean, I’d rather have a pizza,” Matt tried to joke. It fell flat. It laid in the sun and shriveled, reduced to nothing but its base characteristic: a deflection. “No,” he answered truthfully, somberly, “I’m not sure.” When it came to Wilson Fisk, Matt was nothing but bad ideas and wrong decisions. “I ordered enough for three.”  
  
The line hesitated in ambivalent silence.  
  
“Say it.” Fisk would be considerate with Matt, patient and understanding, but for this sensitive matter, he required very specific wording. He demanded it. Until then, he could not proceed in good faith.  
  
“Wilson,” Matt said in no uncertain terms, “come have dinner with us.”  
  
Fisk’s exhale was loud. Matt could picture his eyes closing shut as he registered those incorporating and merciful words for which he longed. “Yes.” He accepted his summons. “I will... I’ll- I’ll be there.”  
  
“All right.” The deed was done. “We’ll see you here.”  
  
“Yes.” If it was what they all three wanted, Fisk would carry through. Rational demand for separation be damned.  
  
“Bye.”  
  
“Goodbye.”  
  
They ended the call.  
  
Matt hung his head. Dread and poor decision-making weighed his shoulders down. He was an idiot, a fool forever compelled to make the wrong choice when it came to Wilson Fisk. He could not be stopped and very likely needed an intervention no one could give him. How could they when the man was a dirty little secret, a hidden shame? Matt was weak, and he could not let anyone know.  
  
One person knew.  
  
Matt sniffed. He raked a hand through his hair, stood up, and exited to the living area. Daniel sat at the table, doing his damn homework on a Friday night. Sometimes Matt wondered if he pushed the kid too much, made him work too hard. He remembered every time he wanted to have fun or goof around, and his own father told him to hit the books, make something of himself. He understood it now. Matt wanted his son to do great things, to be smart, wise, engaging, and confident. They both did, him and Fisk. So far, he was. Daniel was top of his class and at an impressive percentile within the whole of the city. He was a good kid, a well-rounded kid. He had a simple, happy home life. He had a happy life. Matt was going to complicate it.  
  
“Hey, buddy,” he called. It got his attention, and Matt walked over. “Remember how I said a surprise was coming?” Daniel nodded. “Your, uh...” Matt cleared his throat. “Your father, he was released today. He’s gonna have dinner with us.”  
  
Daniel smiled.


	2. [Taken]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me immediately disappoint everyone who wanted chapter 2 to pick up right where chapter 1 ended. Haha.
> 
> I began writing this fic a year ago with a more simple, straightforward formula. For some reason, while watching season 3, I decided to mix it up some, intercutting each linear chapter with flashbacks to Matt visiting Fisk during his incarceration. They’re relevant to the overall fic, and I decided it would play better to have the interactions themselves instead of simply discussing what happened. In a way, there’s sort of two stories happening here, until the end when we catch up with ourselves. (Like in 2x05, the first episode with Elektra.) So every other chapter will be a flashback. Yay flashbacks. 
> 
> Quick reminder that in this fic, Fisk was arrested under different circumstances than the series. He still retains and maintains his criminal empire while inside.

**[Three Years, Ten Months, One Week Ago]**  
  
“This is a courtesy call.”  
  
Matt spoke his warning, and it came across Fisk’s cellphone, a contraband phone he was not supposed to have, a phone to which he made Matt and Daniel memorize the number. So Matt called it. He gave notice.  
  
“Divest.” Fisk had not done so of his own volition— and would not. Therefore, Matt forced his hand. “Scrub everything with your name on it,” he advised. “Sell the companies, the illegal trades, the... whatever the hell it is you do. Erase your involvement. Purge your criminal activity— all of it— or add it to your sentence.”  
  
It was a lot of information and an even greater ambiguity to process. Matt gave the man a moment to work through what he was hearing. The phone line was silent between them as Fisk’s mind came to a foreboding conclusion he needed confirmed.  
  
“What,” he asked, “have you done?”  
  
Matt did not answer.  
  
“ _What have you done_!” Fisk roared.  
  
After pause, Matt said what he rehearsed for their conversation, and he tried to keep his own personal feelings from affecting the words. “I put a case together,” he calmly stated, “legally.”  
  
It took Matt three years, but he did, just as he promised himself so long ago. He mapped money trails from suspicious corporations to shell companies to crooked lawyers to crooked cops, judges, and politicians to James Wesley to Wilson Fisk. With one trip to the district attorney, he could take them all down. He would.  
  
But there was one man in the foul heap whom he could not condemn to life in prison.  
  
God forgive him, he could not.  
  
So Matt made his phone call.  
  
It was merciful, he told himself. But it was also fair play, retribution.  
  
Fisk forced Matt into being a good parent by making him give up the Devil. Matt did the same to him, dragging Fisk to fatherhood by denying the choices which made him unfit.  
  
He did not see it that way.  
  
The smoldering breath of a barely restrained temper huffed in Matt’s ear. He knew that temper. He was intimate with the savage ways it wanted to beat him, to rip him apart, to make him pay for his impudence so that he might never repeat his misdeed. Fisk’s temper was a creature of impulse, and it wanted to squeeze the life from Matt.  
  
There was a reason they were speaking over the phone and not in person. Matt maintained his hazardous vendetta against Fisk’s empire, but he was not suicidal— or at the very least, not a masochist for the pain that would take him to the brink of lethality.  
  
Shaking breaths snarled at Matt, trying to maintain their master’s composure.  
  
In for three counts.  
  
Out for three.  
  
In.  
  
Out.  
  
Fisk said nothing. He did not trust himself to speak. His fingers itched for physical rebuttal.  
  
“You have three days,” Matt informed him, knowing he gave far too little time for Fisk to dispose of his assets properly, to liquidate and relabel them anew. No, he would have to dump it all— wipe every trace of himself from their records, sever his ability to reconnect. Fisk had to surrender everything or let it drag him down, sink or swim. “Three days,” Matt repeated, “until noon Friday. After that, it’s over, Wilson.” Then he gave an empty solution, one he knew Fisk would not and could never take. “You’d have to kill me to stop it.”  
  
He wanted to. Oh, he wanted to. Matt knew he did.  
  
But he could not.  
  
Fisk confessed his refusal to live in a world without Matt. He would not let anyone take Matt away from their son. And he would never allow the making of that reality to be by his own hand. He said as much. So, Matt exploited his unfair advantage and did what no other person would be permitted to walk away from: he broke the chains of criminal enterprise held by Wilson Fisk.  
  
Exhale.  
  
Inhale.  
  
Out.  
  
In.  
  
Fisk drew breath like some mythical dragon who would expel it all in decimating fire. The cautionary smoke billowed from his nostrils, but there followed no flames. He swallowed those down inside his heaving, burning chest.  
  
Fisk did not ask Matt to reconsider his plan. It was done but for the execution. He knew that.  
  
Matt would not withdraw his justice. Matt could not be silenced through extermination. Matt could not be stopped.  
  
“Hang up... the phone,” Fisk ordered in a low and seething growl. He had many calls to make and could waste no further time with Matt, as much as he might want to scream at him. And yet Fisk would not hang up first, would not display such weak and hectic behavior as disconnecting without a word. He made a demand of Matt, gave him a command to perform so that he might simulate control of the omega who ruined him. “Now.”  
  
Matt gave penitent mercy in the wake of his actions. He hung up the phone without another word. And he was relieved in knowing that miles of road and a few feet of brick lay between himself and the fury of Wilson Fisk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fisk is maaaaaaaad. Uh-oh. So let’s have next chapter jump forward a few years to after he’s cooled down. Haha.
> 
> I suppose if you want to read this fic in chronological order, you could wait until it’s finished and read all the even-numbered chapters first, then all the odds. I like the setup I have. You do you though.


	3. Reception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh... sorry long, long, long time no update. I promise I haven’t and won’t abandon this fic. I’m just trash and get distracted by other things very easily.
> 
> This picks up where Chapter 1 left off.

Daniel was thrilled. He was positively, overwhelmingly energetic.  
  
“When’s he gonna be here?” he kept asking.  
  
“Uh, I dunno.” Matt did not know how far Fisk’s new place was. He did not know if the man changed his mind against coming, if he decided he could not face Matt and Daniel in the real world. All he knew was that watching the boy get excited when Thai food— and not Fisk— knocked on the door was slightly heartbreaking.  
  
“Call him.”  
  
“He’ll get here when he gets here.” That was not what Daniel wanted to hear. “Why don’t you go ahead and eat?”  
  
“I’ll wait.” Daniel wanted to eat dinner with his father, with both his parents, for the first time.  
  
So they waited. They waited for Fisk. Their lives hung in stasis, unable to move on without the man. It was too much power for a person with such restricted physical presence up until then.  
  
Daniel announced a need to use the bathroom just as Matt heard heavy footsteps ascending from the floor below. He did not stop the boy. Instead, he went to the door alone.  
  
Fisk stood in the hall outside their apartment. His heart beat with an unsteady voice, demanding that he leave, pleading with him to walk away from the people whose lives he would complicate and, inevitably, destroy. Matt waited on the other side. His fingertips dragged down the door and rested around the handle.  
  
The two men stood in stalemate.  
  
Matt did not turn his hand until Fisk raised his to knock.  
  
The barrier parted.  
  
Matt Murdock and Wilson Fisk stood before one another as free men with nothing in between.  
  
“Hello.”  
  
Matt leaned against the door he held. “Hey.”  
  
“I- I brought...” He held out a bottle. It was shaped like wine, but all Matt could sense was the glass. He did not know red or white. He did not know if it was a good label or a good year. Going off everything he knew of Fisk and his standards, however, Matt did not doubt it would taste good. He took the bottle.  
  
“Probably won’t pair with Thai, but we can, uh, enjoy it later.” They could drink it alone together.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Fisk’s thumb circled his fingertips in a nervous twitch.  
  
“He’s been waiting for you.” Matt tried to smile, to defuse the tension. “He’s excited to see you again.” Neither of them liked Daniel visiting at the prison. The environment was not suited for children. It was not how Fisk wanted his son to think of him. And yet, multiple times, the boy asked for it, begged for it. They often turned him down, but some requests could not be denied, like those on his birthday. Daniel wanted to know his father. He liked Fisk.  
  
“Yes, there was traffic,” the man excused. His heart betrayed him, telling Matt he told a lie. Fisk dragged his feet in getting there. He was afraid of meeting with them, of spending time together. That made two of them— but not three.  
  
“You’re here!”  
  
Daniel ran down the hall and straight for him. In an instant, Fisk’s apprehensions melted, or he concealed them better. A smile took their place.  
  
Touching was fairly new to their relationship. Whether a plate of glass separated or a visitation table and, “No touching,” rule impeded, Fisk and Daniel lived the boy’s lifetime with limited contact. They could now. Daniel took advantage of it quicker than Fisk. Little arms grabbed the man around his waist and squeezed. Fisk was hesitant, almost afraid, to reciprocate. Matt nodded his head, giving Fisk permission, encouraging him. A large hand touched Daniel’s back and rubbed. With greater resolve, Fisk grabbed the boy under either arm and lifted him from the floor. He picked him up. He clutched him to his chest in a hug. Fisk relished the simple pleasure of getting to hold his son.  
  
“We’ve been waiting for you,” Daniel said. “The food’s gonna get cold.”  
  
“I know,” Fisk replied. “My apologies... for being late.”  
  
Matt clapped his hands together and took a deep breath. They could do this. They could pretend everything was ordinary. For Daniel. “I’ll grab some plates.”  
  
Fisk followed him into the main living space and observed all its changes since his initial and singular visit. It might have been the same— frozen in time and complacency, a routine for a blind man— but housing a child meant the apartment became a living thing, constantly shifting, always evolving.  
  
When they got to the dining area, Daniel squirmed to be let down. Fisk put him on the floor.  
  
“I sit here,” the boy told him. “Daddy sits here.” He ran past a second chair. “And you can sit here.” He pulled out a chair that was seldom used. Foggy might sit in it whenever he stayed for dinner— if they did not eat on the couch and over the coffee table. Tonight, it belonged to Fisk.  
  
“Thank you.” The man was grateful for his assigned seat. “Matthew, do you... need any—”  
  
“I got it.” Matt knew what he was going to ask. And truthfully, he could have used help carrying Thai food, plates, and three waters to drink. He made two trips.  
  
They sat like men under agreement to put guns on the floor instead of pointed at each other— slow, cautious. Keep both hands visible. Make no sudden movements. The entire situation was a powder keg they strove to keep unlit.  
  
Thankfully, Daniel did not sense their tension. He was too preoccupied by innocent and happy thoughts. He was too distracted by dinner boxes being opened.  
  
They dished food onto their plates.  
  
“Dad.”  
  
Fisk halted the fork spinning between his noodles. Daniel spoke to him, called him ‘Dad’ to get his attention. The man was not used to that, and it was obvious by the stilted breath he caught. He gave full acknowledgment to the call he appreciated.  
  
“You gotta say the blessing first,” the boy asserted. His small hands folded together as he prepared to give thanks.  
  
“We usually...” Matt sighed. “It’s just a...” He tried to raise Daniel in the ways his grandmother pressed into him as a child, passing Catholicism from one generation to the next, but their habitual practice felt more than awkward with Fisk in attendance. “We don’t have to tonight,” he told Daniel.  
  
“No,” Fisk insisted. He rested his fork on the plate and interlocked his fingers in front of himself. “If this is what he does,” he said, “then this is what we’ll do.”  
  
“Yeah.” Matt put his hands together and bowed his head. To Daniel, he said, “Just say one to yourself, okay?”  
  
He did— out loud. “Dear God,” he spoke, “thank you for this good food tonight. And thank you for my dad getting out of prison. And thank you that he can be here with us so we can all be together again. And please help nothing come between us anymore so we can stay together, just like a family.” Daniel was smart, and of that, there was no denying. What he lacked, as a child, was subtlety. “Amen.”  
  
“Amen,” Matt and Fisk echoed. Neither of them looked across the table at the other.  
  
All three put down their joined hands and picked up their utensils. They ate a few bites in silence, satisfying hunger before speech.  
  
“Daddy said you might get out soon,” Daniel stated as their vocal conversation leader. “And I was so surprised. I was like, ‘What?!’” Fisk grinned at his lively enthusiasm. “I kept asking him when.”  
  
“And asking and asking and asking,” Matt commented with a huff of a laugh.  
  
“I can’t believe you weren’t more excited,” Daniel said. “Your letters didn’t even mention it.”  
  
They were pen pals, Fisk and Daniel. Every week or every other week, Fisk sent a letter— letters which he respectfully read to Matt over the phone before placing in their envelopes. He took his privileges with Daniel very seriously and made certain to never overstep his bounds. Therefore, he acted with complete transparency in their communications, always letting Matt know what he intended to say.  
  
“I thought,” Fisk told Daniel, “that I might keep it a surprise.” He did not think Matt would appreciate being put under pressure, knowing that if Daniel knew Fisk were free, the boy would demand to see him. They waited for Matt’s ruling on how to proceed, and they mentioned nothing of it until that decision was made. Matt said nothing specific. Fisk wrote nothing. And out loud, at the dinner table, as another of the many lies to their son, Fisk made his release sound like an early Christmas present, a secret until delivery. “But make no mistake,” he assured. “I was very... excited to be out. I am... excited.”  
  
“Yeah,” Matt compared for the boy, “just remember how you felt when school let out for summer, then multiply it by, oh, about a thousand.” He understood that prison was a cruel and loathsome place, and yet he would never feel guilty sending Fisk there. The man deserved it as minuscule penance for all his many and monstrous crimes. And between himself and Matt, it gave opportunity to step back from the volatile tension of their relationship and evaluate what they wanted moving forward. It gave Matt the chance to strike at Fisk’s weakened organization and remove it before the end of his incarceration. It was necessary so they could be where they were at that very moment: eating an amicable dinner with their son.  
  
“An apt analogy, yes,” Fisk agreed.  
  
“I bet you thought about it a really, really, _really_ long time,” Daniel remarked, saying it around a mouth of spiced chicken but behind a napkin, demonstrating semi-decent manners.  
  
“I have, yes,” the man replied. “I have thought about it for a... a very long time.”  
  
The comment sunk a stone in Matt’s stomach, filling him with senseless dread. It was irrational, and he knew that. He knew Fisk intended no retribution towards him, and yet whenever that man took time to think, terrible episodes did follow, like thunder after lightning, great and inevitable.  
  
“Any plans?” Matt questioned.  
  
“Yes.” Fisk always had a plan. “Yes, I think,” he considered, “after so long away I might... travel.” The big man was cramped inside small quarters too long. He ached to stretch his wings. “Tokyo or... Hong Kong.”  
  
Matt paused the fork in route to his mouth. He was not expecting Fisk to leave, but of course the man had other plans, more liberating plans than Hell’s Kitchen, chained to the city as his soul might be.  
  
“And your probation allows you to leave the country?” It sounded like an insult, like a taunt, as soon as the words left Matt’s mouth. He did not want to hold Fisk’s incarceration against him, not under the surrendering circumstances that led to it and never in front of Daniel. Matt opened his mouth to speak— a retraction at least, if he could not force the apology. “I...”  
  
“That will be for the lawyers to sort,” Fisk stated, and he seemed confident it would be resolved to his satisfaction.  
  
“Well,” Matt took an intentional drink of water, “it sounds nice.” He never considered himself an especially competent actor, but Matt thought he played the part of apathy well, conveying to the table that he did not care what Fisk did with his life. The man was free now, free to do whatever he wanted, free to go wherever he wanted.  
  
“Do you know where those places are,” Fisk asked Daniel, “Tokyo and Hong Kong?”  
  
“Japan,” the boy answered, “and China.”  
  
“That’s corr—”  
  
“Tokyo is the capital city, but China’s is Beijing.”  
  
Fisk turned to Matt, impressed, but Matt only shrugged and grinned. “Aced that test on capitals, didn’t you, buddy?” He held up his hand and Daniel slapped it in a high-five.  
  
“Yeah!” The boy was proud of himself, but that could not distract from the general matter at hand. “So... you’re leaving?”  
  
His upset pained the man. “Not right away,” Fisk promised, “and not forever.” What he did not understand was that a few weeks or months to an adult was forever to a child.  
  
“But what about your job?” Daniel asked. “You need to get one since you’re out of prison.” He had dedicated several days in research to the necessary steps rehabilitated prisoners should take after release.   
  
Fisk was not comfortable discussing the terms of his parole or his risk of re-offending with Daniel, but neither could he ignore such a pressing concern in that little head. “I have,” he said, “an import/export company... spices. It is my first business venture, always kept... unassociated with the others. It yields a sustainable yearly profit and income.”  
  
“Just not as great as you had before,” Matt presumed.  
  
“No,” confirmed Fisk, “and yet it is more generous than the wage of many in this city.”  
  
“Spices?” Daniel questioned. “Like on food?”  
  
“Yes,” Fisk said with a smile, “the spices people use in food. I import them from various countries to my warehouses in America, one here... in New York. Then they are distributed for sale. Do you understand how that works?”  
  
Daniel nodded. There was more to the process, but on that simplified summary Fisk provided, he could grasp the general idea. “Can you steal from that?” he questioned.  
  
It was their agreement that, to explain Fisk’s incarceration, they spin a story for Daniel of embezzlement, a few counts of it and other offenses— harmless, white collar offenses. That was why he was arrested. And now Daniel wanted to know if there was risk of him relapsing into that fictitious crime.  
  
“I could,” Fisk honestly answered, “but I won’t.” He stressed utmost sincerity when he swore, “I’ve learned my lesson.”  
  
Daniel grinned. “That’s good,” he said, though some part of him kept alive that nagging fear. “Can I come with you to work?” he asked. “I go to Daddy’s lawyer office a lot. I wanna know how spices work.”  
  
“I do not often go to the factory,” Fisk told him. “I have someone that manages it for me. But perhaps... I could give you a tour one day, with your father’s permission.”  
  
“He won’t mind,” Daniel said.  
  
“Do I get a say in that?” Matt interjected. It would take much more time until he felt good about leaving Daniel alone with Fisk.  
  
“He likes you,” Daniel continued. Matt did not know what sort of ‘like’ the boy intended or how he got the impression, but he was embarrassed for Daniel to announce it. “That’s good. We need to be close.”  
  
Fisk did not want to encourage him, but he was curious. “Why is that?”  
  
Daniel sat straighter and behaved like a paid professional, how he saw Matt at work. “The rate of recidi... reci...”  
  
“Recidivism,” Matt offered. Daniel never could say that word.  
  
“Being arrested again,” the boy said instead, “is 40%.”  
  
Fisk glanced at Matt, who sighed. “He has an interest in the law,” he excused.  
  
“I don’t want you to go back to prison,” Daniel pleaded.  
  
The man’s heart beat faster from embarrassment or anger. “I didn’t put him up to that,” Matt swore. While it was true he wanted the man to stay on the right side of the law, he was not inclined to use underhanded means and manipulate it.  
  
Fisk turned to Daniel and leaned towards him like the understanding father he attempted to be. “What do you want?” he asked.  
  
Daniel hesitated on his answer before blurting it out. “I want the two of you to get married.”  
  
“Daniel!”  
  
“So we can be a family.”  
  
“Daniel.”  
  
“He asked what I want!” the boy defended, playing innocent and ignorant. “Parolees with strong family ties are less likely to reoffend.” He was reading straight out of some newspaper or statistic report, and Matt knew he only had himself to blame for leaving it out and available. “You should get married.”  
  
“It’s not that simple,” Matt said. “We talked about this, right?”  
  
“I want to talk to him about it,” Daniel said. He wanted a more favorable answer. What an imitation of family they already resembled when one parent said no and the child moved on to the other more hopeful. “You should get married,” he suggested to Fisk. “You’re out of prison now. You can be together.”  
  
Fisk cleared his throat to buy time away from what he did not want to say. Daniel was so wide-eyed and hopeful. Like most children, he was convinced he knew best and the adults merely had to be brought around to his way of thinking. “Your father is... is right,” Fisk said. “It isn’t that simple.” Nothing was simple between the two of them. It never had been.  
  
Daniel had to think hard on his rebuttal after both men shot him down. “You just need to go on a date,” he proposed.  
  
“Daniel,” Matt scolded. The boy was so overwhelmed and excited, he said whatever came to his mind.  
  
“You haven’t seen each other in a long time,” Daniel explained. “You need to be out alone together, like when you met.”  
  
“We can’t,” Matt sighed, “go on a date.”  
  
“Foggy will watch me,” he insisted, making his plan foolproof. “I’ll be good. You won’t have to worry about me.”  
  
What Matt knew but Daniel did not was that Foggy would never be an accomplice to a date with Fisk. He would babysit Matt first, detaining him, restricting him from going near the man— for his own good.  
  
Matt tried to meet Daniel halfway without upsetting him. “Let’s enjoy our date tonight,” he suggested, using the term Daniel wanted. He and Fisk were on a date, technically. It was dinner at home and with their son for company, but if redefining it helped, Matt was willing to let him have it.  
  
“This is a date?” Daniel confirmed with Fisk.  
  
The man was reluctant to use such a strong word, but he played along with Matt’s ruse for Daniel’s sake. “Yes,” he said. “Dinner... conversation, isn’t that how the majority defines them?”  
  
The conditions were not ideal definitions for a date, and even a seven-year-old knew that. However, after consideration, he would settle for it. “Okay,” he agreed, “cool.” His parents were on their first date in years (their first date ever, if the boy had all the facts), and he got to be there for it. “I can get a candle!” he volunteered, hoping to make the setting more romantic.  
  
Matt grabbed a little arm before Daniel could jump out of his chair. “Don’t get the candle,” he said. Casual acquaintances were often at a loss over what to get a blind man on gift-giving holidays. A scented candle could appeal to and be enjoyed by another sense— except it was a potent smell and Matt detested it. The candle stayed in a cabinet with its lid on, and they would not be getting it out. Aside from the smell, he also did not want to further indulge Daniel’s romantic ideations. “We’re fine without it.” He smiled and they resumed eating.  
  
Fisk was silent across the table. A little boy’s good, if selfish, intentions poured cold water over conversation. Their brief vacation from an awkward atmosphere was ended. And Daniel remained the only one incapable of reading the room.  
  
“Can you take me to school Monday?” he asked. “I want to show you to my friends.”  
  
“Daniel,” Matt sighed, “we already talked about this. Your... Your father doesn’t have any custody.”  
  
“But you’re a lawyer!” he exclaimed. “You can make it happen. You just have to make the papers.”  
  
“He can,” Fisk agreed, and Matt froze at the prospect of two against one on an issue that could have no leniency. Fisk threatened to keep or kidnap Daniel too many times. The last thing Matt could ever do was give the man legal grounds with which to carry through. Fisk knew Matt would not and could not, and he could easily push the matter to make Matt the villain. “He can,” he repeated, “but that does not mean that he should.” Fisk gave Matt the slightest nod, letting him know he would not push boundaries, would not jeopardize his current mercies, restricted as they were. It was more than he had right to, and he knew that.  
  
“What’s the point of even being a lawyer if you can’t do anything for yourself?” the boy yelled.  
  
He was upset now. A child could be smart and kind, but when conditions muddied, he was as capable of processing complex emotions as anyone else his age. He could not. Daniel was overwhelmed by the evening, and after seven years of not having a conventional family life, he wanted everything at once. It was a pitiful, understandable wish. It was not the boy’s fault they could not be more traditional. He was innocent of every obstruction, and they gave him nothing to make up for it, not one thing!  
  
However, that did not mean Matt, in his own state of overwhelm, could take much more. It was so much, too much. Foggy, Karen, Fisk, Daniel, the secrecy, the lies. He was only one man, and even decades of trained deception, the juggling of multiple lives, had its limitations.  
  
“Daniel, go take your bath,” Matt told him. “Get ready for bed.”  
  
Dinner was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daniel is me. Come on, guys. Just go on a date and get married already!
> 
> I want it to be that simple. :'(
> 
> PS: I've added two chapters to the final count. I used to project 11 chapters by the time I finished. Now, it's 13.


End file.
